Hela On Earth
by EliseMoreya
Summary: They said I was gifted. They said I had potential. So why did I feel like such a curse?


It was windy that day. Windy, and rainy. As the taxis raced past, splashing muddy puddles onto tourists and civilians, a pair of sisters raced past. In front of them, a girl, hair braided in tiny rows, laughed and kicked a pool of water in the center of Times Square, the icy water seeping into her boots, and everyone else's. It was about nine o'clock, and despite the usually warm month of June, the temperature dropped to the low forties.

"Victoria! Stop doing that, for the sixtieth time!" Misty groaned and wiped the dribbling water off her bare arms. They had worn jackets, but those were draped over their backpacks, which held library books.

By the time Victoria had stopped soaking her friends, they were almost home. An apartment on the sixtieth floor had a single light on. The silhouettes on several figures caught Victoria's watchful eye.

"Who's visiting you guys?" Misty and Sima looked up to where Victoria was pointing, the rain water tapping their noses. Sima shrugged, and stepped inside the lobby. Mr. Lasko said hello to her as she wiped her feet on the mat.

"Hello, Simmy. No one picked up your mail today." Sima skipped over as Mr. Lasko handed her a few letters. Curiosity got the best of her as she asked, "Do we have visitors, Mr. Lasko?"

He shook his head. "Don't know, Simmy. Buck Hawley would've seen them. He's on daytime duty. I just got here half an hour ago. " Mr. Lasko always spoke in short, choppy sentences. Not because, he thought people could not understand otherwise, because that was the way he was. Sima liked him very much, and spent many hours talking to him about being a lobbyist. The familiar click of Victoria's hair beads and Misty laugh entered the lobby. Simmy waved goodbye to Mr. Lasko, who wished them all a good night.

In the elevator, Victoria and Misty shared giggly whispers of who could be in the apartment.

"An axe murderer!" Victoria squealed as they flew open the door and stared in disappointment. Two adults, one male, one female, were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking seriously. One of the strangers was smartly dressed but the other wore simple street clothes. Rachel Hampshire smiled at them as the stepped in, water dripping from their clothes and their dark hair plastered to their faces. Sima and Victoria were the dirtiest. Muddy water covered their shoes and the tips of their jeans.

"Hello Tori! What's this I hear about axe murderers?" Victoria snorted then sheepishly shook her head.

"Nothing, Mrs. Hampshire." Misty and Victoria stood giggling for a while in the door way while Simmy raced to dry off. She felt the strange woman's eyes on her, and it made her feel uncomfortable. After Victoria had changed (she found some of Simmy's pajamas), they huddled together and argued over which movie to watch. Victoria's hair was not dripping wet anymore, but her cheeks were still cold.

Simmy patted her friend's cheeks. "They're so cold!" she commented.

Victoria scowled playfully and patted Simmy's cheeks for revenge. Her hand drew back quickly.

"Ugh! Yours are like ice!" Then began a quiet, giggly frenzy of cheek patting. The three adults in the room noticed the eleven-year-old pat-a-thon. The woman played with the end of her red hair.

"Are you sure she's his daughter?" She joked, knowing that she was, of course. Mrs. Hampshire looked at her daughter sympathetically. Ever since she was young, Sima had known she was adopted. They didn't want to lie to their only child, not about something that important. However, they never told the whole truth.

Sima Elle Hampshire, born in Brooklyn. That's all the girl knew about her own history, but there was so much more that she could know, _should_ know. The life of a SHIELD agent was never easy.

Rachel shook her head, turning it away from her daughter. "Isn't there another way? Simmy's so young, and he's so dangerous! She's only eleven, still innocent to the world."

The man shook his head. "We have to get this situation under control. We need her." Rachel was hurt by his abruptness towards the problem, but she knew better than to say something against someone with level eight clearance. "I'm sorry Rachel, but you knew we'd have to give her up eventually. We'll take good care of her, I promise."

Rachel felt her whole world come crashing down. Yes, she knew this day would come, but so soon. She couldn't help but let a sob escape. Sima wasn't just her assigned project, she was family. A cold, slightly damp hand brushed her cheek. Victoria was sneaking out the door, aware of the sudden change of mood.

"Mom...Are you okay?" Misty asked, poking her head through the bathroom door.

"Yes, sweetie. Stay in your room." She ordered. Sima's hand trailed away as she started for her room.

Natasha stopped her. "You stay." Rachel sighed, afraid of how Simmy would react.

Sima stopped where she was, shoulders tense and chest rising. She turned on her heel and stared Natasha down, not even aware that she was taking on an assassin extraordinaire. She pointed to the door.

"Get out-"

"Sima!" Rachel scolded.

"Get out! I don't care who you are! You're making my mom cry and that's not alright! Get out before I call my dad!" Coulson caught Rachel's eye. She knew what he was asking. _She doesn't actually mean her real dad, does she?_ She shook her head. Of course Sima meant Joseph, Rachel's husband. She didn't know any better.

"Sima! Sit down!" Rachel ordered in a tone she had never used before. Sima's head snapped towards the sound, and immediately sat down in her seat, back as straight as a soldier's. Her expression was stoic and professional, but she felt scared and confused.

Rachel nodded towards Coulson. He restarted the conversation. "My named is Phil Coulson, and this is Agent Romanoff. We're with an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D., which stands for-"

Sima stopped him mid-sentance. "Whoa, you guys are spies? Actual spies?" Her curiousity spiked and mood changed with the excitement of espionage.

Coulson corrected her. "Not exactly. We're here for your help, Sima, but it's very serious."

"Why me?" She asked, "I'm not even eleven-years-old."

Rachel stroked her daughter's head, smoothing her hair. How would she react to this? Generally, Sima was level-headed, and could handle tough-situations well, but this was something close to her heart.

"Sima," Rachel said carefully, picking out the exact words to say. "This is about your real parents."


End file.
